As has become apparent I’m sure over the past few months, I was/am obsessed with the royal wedding, in particular the rising star of one Pippa Middleton. So much so that, moments after the world’s most famous sibling entered Westminster Abbey, I was proclaiming that I would be the Pippa Middleton of not one, not two, but all of the weddings I have to attend in the next year or so. Meaning, I was going to upstage everyone, be the best dressed, etc. Oh, wishful thinking.
My first attempt came at the Memorial Day nuptials of my cousin RJ. To say I crashed and burned would be an understatement. But instead of being upset or going on the defensive, I’m owning it, and because of that, I’m going to give all of you the definitive guide on what not to do at a wedding, family function, or really anytime you’re in public. This is How Not to be the Pippa Middleton of a Wedding. You’ll thank me later.
Vomiting: So, contrary to popular belief, there is an amount of alcohol you can drink without throwing up. However, I’ve learned that five Chardonnays in one hour is past this limit for me. I’m not really sure how I got myself into this predicament, but I also don’t remember leaving the rehearsal dinner, drunk dialing my mother, or changing my clothes. I do however remember waffles, saying something like “hold the lactose” to my Uncle Tom, and falling asleep on the bathroom floor.
Note to readers: if you are going to vomit, do not allow anyone to take pictures of you. I have no shame, so to me it’s fine. But for those of you who may be more private, keep that in mind.
Fighting with nuns: So at this wedding there happened to be a nun who wasn’t very nice. For example, she was explaining to her assistant nun that the next wedding was going to have the readings done in two languages, rolled her eyes, and whispered the word “Spanish.” So you can imagine how tolerant she was when she asked me if I was the bride and I said “Why, you know someone?” I think I’ve been excommunicated.
Having a bird shit on you: This one’s really out of your control, but I would recommend that if you can somehow keep it from happening you should. Standing outside the church after the ceremony, both my mom and I were brown bombed by some terrorist bird looking to get his revenge on some New Yorkers for the death of Osama bin Laden. I was mortified. And instead of comiserating with me, my mom used it as an opportunity to tell everyone about how funny it was that I had been shit on by a bird, never mentioning that she had been one of the targets as well. Even people in line for the bathroom knew, bowing their heads and saying “I heard you were hit.” All of the wedding guests were delayed on the bus as I tried to antibac myself, and then cheered when I finally got out of the bathroom. I did a little dance at the front of the bus, to make it less awkward. As usual, that had the opposite effect.
Dancing to Rihanna’s S+M with your 13-year-old cousin: Ok, first of all, what wedding band has this song on their playlist? I felt like I was in that part of Old School where the lead singer just keeps slipping the f-bomb into his romantic love ballads. And in my defense, Trevor knew all the words. I blame Slick Nick.
Correcting people’s grammar: Ok, tell me if this is funny – my Uncle Ed was talking about falling asleep the night before, and he slept so good he was “comatoast.” Not comatose. “Comatoast.” To which I replied, “oh, I love comatoast with jam.” I thought this was hilarious. Uncle Ed did not. And apparently he’s been wanting to tell me for some time that I’m too smart for my own good and that’s why I don’t have a boyfriend, because I don’t know “how to play a dumb.” Now I know.
Wearing a dog’s top hat as a fascinator: In great British tradition, I thought it would be adorable at some point in the weekend to wear some kind of great hat. Unfortunately, the only one I could find was part of Kingston the bulldog’s wedding tuxedo costume. After four straight days of drinking, the thought “this will do” crossed my mind, and I wore that hat, or as we say in the UK, the “fascinator,” for an entire game of corn hole. Fascinating.
So there it is people. Follow these easy steps and you will definitely not be the most funny, adorable, classy person at the party. You may be the most talked about, but you definitely won’t be a Pippa.